Budapest
by timtom
Summary: What really happened at Budapest? The four interns and Phil might claim they know, but only Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton knows the truth. (Rating will change as the story progresses)
1. Chapter 1

High above the Budai Landscape Protection Area, a shadow whirled past, the trees whistling and rustling in a gesture of farewell. Inside the helicopter sat seven people, including the pilot. On one side of the open body sat Natasha, and opposite her sat Clint. Her red hair was left as it was, and the wind tunnel created by the helicopter whipped her hair to and fro with every kilometer they transcended upon the Hungarian landscape. They were both in uniform; Natasha was in her tight but warm battle suit, and Clint had his arrows and bow. Spread across the rest of the helicopter seats sat four people, all in S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform and all silent. They knew enough not to listen to the conversations that Natasha and Clint – Their overseers – were having, and had spent most of the helicopter ride checking over their gear and psyching themselves up.

"This is ridiculous." Natasha murmured, and Clint's keen ears picked up her comment above the helicopter's noise.

"It's not that bad, really." He replied, fingering the tip of his bow. "They'll behave themselves, and listen to instructions. I've taken a few interns in my time, it'll be fine."

"Yeah, it'll be fine for you. But don't you think Fury was a little misguided when he put me in charge along with you? This is all a big mistake and it won't be long before something bad happens." Natasha muttered.

"We have a base set up, and Phil will supervise them when we arrive, it will be fine, Tasha." Clint put his hand on her arm, and her suit was strangely cold. He lowered his voice. "No one is going to die."

Natasha sighed and put her hand over his. "At someone else's hand, maybe."

Clint's grip tightened affectionately. "That wasn't your fault, Tasha. It was just a mission gone awry, you can't keep blaming yourself for shooting him."

"He died, Clint. He died because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time and I shot him. I shot him and he died, and now they are trusting me with four naïve little kids, as if I'm their babysitter. I don't think you understand how serious this really is, Clint." Natasha's voice had an edge to it, and Clint tightened his jaw. He looked over to the four interns sitting in the helicopter, who all had their heads down, and one had her hand laid upon her gun holster.

"We'll talk about this later, okay Tasha?" Clint said, and without waiting for her to respond, he raised his voice so everyone in the helicopter could hear. "Okay listen up kids, I want to get introductions over with, so I want you all to tell me your name, age, rank and what agency you transferred from." He waved a hand between him and Natasha. "I'm sure you know both myself and Agent Romanoff from your mission debriefs." Then he pointed at the woman who had her hand on her gun. "Go."

She hesitated and looked between her team mates, who offered no support whatsoever, and cleared her throat. "I'm Agent Kratt, and-"

"I can't hear you!" Clint yelled, putting a hand to his ear, then gesturing for her to speak up, annoyed. She cleared her throat again and sat a little straighter.

"I'm Agent Kratt from the Caviller department, I am a trainee and I am twenty-three years old." She pointed to the man sitting next to her. "Agent Benton is my colleague."

Clint gestured and the other agents spoke in turn: apart from Kratt and Benton, there was Agents Gregory and Phillips. Clint wasn't really listening to the rest of their bio, and neither was Natasha. She was looking down at the landscape of the country, plotting escape routes and ambush sites.

"Alright guys we're over the landing site, so I'm gonna circle around, and you're going to parachute in, alright?" The pilot's com broke the silence. Clint gave the pilot the signal, and the helicopter veered to the right, creating a large arch over the middle of the forest.

"Everyone follow my lead!" Clint yelled before tightening his straps, and hurling himself over the edge. He was freefalling for an exhilarating few seconds, feeling the familiar air rushing past his anatomy, the friction causing a burning sensation on his exposed arms and face, and he felt weightless for what seemed like the few seconds that decided his life. Then he pulled the cord, and the light blue material opened, and he was wretched back just before he hit the canopy. When he looked up, he could see similar parachutes; the intern's and then Natasha's smaller, more agile one. Specially designed for her, it allowed her to glide soundlessly over a large amount of area quickly, and when she took it off it would offer her warmth and shelter. There were different types, and the one she had today matched theirs – light blue on the bottom like the sky, and mottled green on the top like the canopy. Their parachutes were definitely going to get caught on the branches, so this offered camouflage while they retrieved it.

He hit the leaf line and braced himself, his elbows coming up and shielding his face, curling himself into a ball so he could break through the branches. He snapped through and narrowly missed the thick branch of a large tree before he was jerked back into suspension. His parachute had covered the top of the canopy, and the slack from the cords was gone. He waited for the other interns to break through the leafy rooftop, clumsily and noisily. He knew Natasha wouldn't be seen coming through, the thinner cords and her smaller size making less noise, while the slipper fabric of her parachute meant she could disarm it much easier than they could. She would return to them when she had done her own patrol of the area.

Clint attached the rope he had wound around his waist to the harness, and released the catch. It wasn't far to drop to the forest floor, but he rolled as he hit the ground just in case. The rope cascaded down, where it hung waiting to be jerked on to work the parachute free of the branches and leaves. Clint motioned and the interns dropped too, but much noisier than he had wanted.

The interns heard nothing, but Clint definitely did, because immediately drew, turned and aimed behind him at a bush, his arrow nocked to his bow and the laser vision landing on a clothed chest.

"Always vigilant, Agent Barton." Phil laughed as he stepped out, with his weapons-free hands in the air. He waved them to follow him. "The area's secure, we've just done the third patrol." As soon as he began talking, men came out of the bushes and began to work the parachutes from leaf roof.

They walked into a clearing, where there were cabins and rooms set up, the rooms housing electronics and the cabins housing beds.

"You and Agent Romanoff will be housed together, I hope you don't mind." Phil said, his eyes smiling silently. Clint cleared his throat and tried not to be affected by the fact that Phil knew.

"I've had worse."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: sorry it's so short guys! I was really rushing to get at least one chapter done before I go on with my other work, and I could only squeeze out half a thousand words or so. I promise to write more next time! Also there's some mature talking going down here, so just a warning.

* * *

"Have they heard of clean sanitation?" Natasha muttered in a deadpan tone as she walked out of the bathroom, rubbing her deep red hair with a towel. "You'd think that if Coulson gets clean water we would too."

"Coulson has clean water?" Clint looked up from the bed, cloth in hand. Then he resumed polishing the shaft of his arrow. He does this every night – to keep the arrow smooth so it can cut through the air easier. "How do you know that?"

"I checked, of course."

"Of course."

Natasha took her position against one of the walls, bending her elbow behind her until she heard a crisp _crack_. She continued stretching; bending down to hug her knees, flexing her legs up against her body like a ballerina, and as she turned to stretch the other side of her body, Clint's eyes unwillingly lingered on Natasha's rear.

"Eyes on your arrows, Barton." Natasha said, a hint of a laugh in her voice.

Clint immediately looked back to his arrows, polishing a bit too fast than normal. "I wasn't even looking."

"Just like the last few hundred times; you never really do get tired of the same thing, Barton?" She walked over and hopped into bed next to him. He stopped polishing and looked to her, and then to the empty bed next to him.

"Are we going to have sex?"

Natasha got herself comfortable and wrapped an arm around Clint's torso. "No." She said. She hugged him tighter and then sighed loudly. "If we are I'll let you know."

"How?"

"I will be unbuckling your pants and saying 'we're going to have sex now'." She said, and Clint knew that was the end of the conversation. He slowly went back to polishing his arrows, his fingers lingering over each smooth surface as he did arrow after arrow. It was a therapeutic exercise – it lowers his breathing and heartbeat, and it calms his mind.

Natasha's breathing was even faster than his at this point, hers quiet and light while his were deep and slow. Natasha was warm against his side, a bit too warm. He's had it worse, and so has she. They've spent nights in Siberia where they've had to sleep next to each other for warmth, and nights in the Saharan desert where they've stayed more than well clear of each other. They've memorized the hot landscape of each others' bodies – each curve and knot of muscle, each scar and bruise. They've learned what it's like to fall asleep in each others' arms, and what it's like to wake up and not know if the other has been killed in their sleep.

Right now Natasha simply stirred, irritated when Clint went to put his arrows away next to his bed, and settle down next to her.

"I was this close to going for the jugular." Natasha whispered, her lips thick with sleep and her eyes screwing closed. Clint turned off the light and put an arm around Natasha's shoulders, tucking her damp hair under his chin. She smelt faintly of sweat, and fragrances of the forest, but her special smell still lingered – Clint couldn't figure out what it was, and maybe if he was this close with her enough he could figure out what it was and not need it so much anymore.

"Thanks for not going, then." He murmured back into her cold hair, and settled into the half sleep that they've both been trained to immerse themselves in since they were youngsters.


	3. Chapter 3

"Kratt and Benton will come with me. Gregory and Phillips, you're going to go out wide, and flank us. Natasha will be on Top, and everyone be as silent as possible. They can't know we're here already." Clint said, and the interns nodded. Natasha sat behind him, deconstructing the sniper rifle she's put together and taken apart three times already this morning. She needed to set up fast, and that meant being fluid in her work.

"We take no prisoners, but it's shotgun protocol. We don't have bullets to waste." Clint said, and the interns nodded again. Clint sighed – he was bored. "Alright, any questions?" Silence. "Great."

The helicopter ride was loud, cold and boring. None of the interns seemed to have any personality. All the conversing was done between Natasha and Clint.

"This must be the dullest group we've had so far." Clint muttered, ruffling his hair with his hand. Natasha chuckled.

"Well you did tell them to be silent as possible."

Clint looked to her and gave a playful punch; she caught it and made him yell mercy.

There was a yellow and brown building coming up, and the helicopter flew over the highest part of the roof, lowering ropes that everyone climbed down. "T-minus four hours for pick up." The pilot said before he gestured a farewell to Clint and Natasha and veered the helicopter up and away.

"The building is three kilometers north. We're going to stick together for now, but if anything happens, no one is expandable, do you understand?" Clint said, pulling on his gloves and braces, unlocking his bow. The interns nodded and withdrew their guns. "What are you doing? Does no one understand shotgun protocol?" Clint said, and the interns slowly lowered them. "Arrows are retrievable. Bullets are not." He said, gesturing to his bow. Natasha already had the bag slung over her shoulder, and was wrapping one of the ropes around a beam on the roof.

She tossed herself over and moments later – too long a moment – Clint heard her feet hit the wall, and she began to descend. "Now everyone follow me." He said, and lowered himself down the building as well.

Natasha wasn't there when Clint got to the bottom, but when the last intern's foot hit the ground, she emerged from the bushes. "Perimeter's clear."

They headed out swiftly and silently, everyone jogging at a quiet and hushed pace, their feet making little noise against the leaves on the forest floor. Clint and Natasha's eyes wandered over their surroundings; the leaves, the birds, the bushes to either side. Natasha was head while Clint brought up the rear with an arrow in his bow. Natasha had her gun too, but no one knew she had it out except for Clint. If anything happened, it was up to them two to protect these kids.

When the trees broke way, Natasha immediately stopped them to huddle behind a bush. Clint brought up Kratt and the end of the line, and knelt to give another briefing. There was a large yellow and cream colored building a few hundred meters past the clearing, and Clint nodded to Natasha, who got up and ran back into the forest.

"Where's she going?" Gregson hissed, and Clint gave him a sharp glare.

"She's Top, so she has to find somewhere to snipe from, right?"

Gregson was slightly annoyed. "Fine."

The radio hissed and Natasha informed them that she was in position. She was lying on a thick branch of a tree some ten few meters from them, the sniper gun set up in front of her. They needed to make it across the open clearing, which was going to be the most dangerous part. She was in charge of making sure no one died.

"It's clear." She said, when she had scanned all the windows and across the fields for people. "You can go ahead."

Clint sent Gregson and Phillips off first, and then counted to three, and brought Kratt and Benton across the empty field, eyes scanning for anything he should send an arrow toward. They made it across the field, and managed to break into the building.

It was an abandoned mental hospital, and the halls were eerily cold. Kratt and Benson followed behind Clint, who had attached a torch to his bow, and kept an arrow drawn at all times. Outside, shapes passed windows as Gregson and Phillips rounded the building, securing the perimeter.

Clint signaled to Kratt that she was to head down the right side of the hall and clear the floor, and Benson to do the same to the left. He was going to press forward – they had already been here for half an hour, and they need to be leaving in an hour and a half. The building had three floors, and at this point, they were never going to finish.

Kratt swallowed thickly and headed down the corridor, the only light coming from her torch and a dirty window at the end of the hall. None of the rooms had windows because of some mental patients didn't do well with being able to see shapes and shadows. Benson walked slowly down the corridor, waiting a few seconds before turning and throwing the torch light into the room. When they both got to the ends, they let out a breath they didn't know they were holding, and pressed a switch on the box on their belts. They had to be silent, so it was up to light to communicate.

In the next room, Clint had cleared what looked like several staff rooms and a dining room. His belt beeped white and he went back to collect them.

"Okay, floor one is cleared." He said into his radio quietly, and his belt beeped red from Natasha's acknowledgement, then two whites for the interns outside flanking them. He silently brought Kratt and Benson to the other side of the building, where they went to collect Gregson and Phillips. Clint lead them up a dark and stained flight of stairs, and they silently moved up them, torches and weapons at the ready. They made it up and Clint sent them off in pairs this time. This was what seemed like the more experimental floor. The corridors that lead right and left contained rooms with beds that had straps, chairs with straps, tables with straps; there was a lot of bondage. Clint had cleared three rooms; one with dried blood on the floor and Clint had simply swallowed and moved on – when he came across the four one. He shone the torch in and the light hit something that was moving; _breathing_.

He quickly lowered the light, and now he could hear it; the shallow and slow breathing of something in the corner of the room.


End file.
